News for Anna
by PhoebeLovesSouffle
Summary: The Doctor and Clara are expecting their second baby, but first, they need to work out a way of telling their three year old daughter, Anna, the news...


Anna ambles into the kitchen, trailing a doll behind her and sucking her thumb, which seems to have become one of her habits. The doll's face scrapes along the kitchen floor, and the Doctor, who has recently become rather protective over anything that resembles a baby or a child, puts down his mug of tea and rushes towards his young daughter and her battered toy. "Careful!" he grins, taking the doll from her grasp. "Don't want to hurt baby, do we Anna?"

His daughter looks at him blankly and Clara looks up from her soufflé preparation to smirk at him. He blushes under her gaze, because she always feels the need to make him look foolish and frankly, today he's having none of it. "There's the doll." He stoops before Anna to hand her it, but she simply tosses it away behind her. There's quite a collection of discarded toys in their kitchen, and they're slowly spilling out to reach the living room.

"Anna," Clara tuts at the three year old, scooping her up and perching her on her jutted hip. "You really need to look after your toys." There's an innocent and afraid look in Anna's eyes, so the Doctor bounds up to her and acts goofy in an attempt to cheer her up.

"Have some soufflé mix!" he smiles, dipping his finger in the bowl before Clara and letting his daughter lick the sweet mixture from it. Anna's face lights up, as does the Doctor's. However, his expression is one of mocking rather than delight.

"Oi!" Clara squeals, letting Anna roam around the kitchen and folding her arms across her chest. "You know I've been craving soufflé all morning!" The Doctor is made to feel a little bad by Clara's remark, because he knows what she's been going through the past few weeks (morning sickness, mood swings to name a few). But he realises as soon as he thinks that, how little of the substance he actually took.

"Wait, a second, Clara," he grumbles. "I took about…" The Doctor makes a gesture Illustrating about a centimetre. "That much."

Clara weighs it all up in her head and comes to the conclusion that she may have overreacted a little. "Blame it on the hormones," she says dismissively, going back to stirring the mixture. A puzzled expression crosses the Doctor's face. He's trying (and failing) to comprehend the wonders (and inconveniences) of a female human's body.

"Psst," Clara hisses in the Doctor's ear, looking past him and to their daughter, who is curled up, rather sweetly, between the cushions on the sofa. "Do you think this is a good time to tell her?"

The Doctor takes a moment to reply, as he's seemingly preoccupied with his own train of thought. "Er… Ah yes, tell her what?"

Clara rolls her eyes and makes a rather animated gesture to her stomach, and the bare bones of soufflé before her that she's been craving. A look of realisation hits the Doctor, and the heat of embarrassment flares up on his cheeks when he also realises how long it's taken him to get it…

"Does she know about the, err… Facts of human life yet?" The Doctor says, wrapping an arm around Clara's shoulder in an attempt to stop the slightly awkward atmosphere. "Pregnancy and that, you know… Eh?"

A look of disgust passes over Clara's faces and she fondly and gently slaps him across the face. "Anna is three, I'm not sure she'll know _how _it happens…" The Doctor flushes a bright pink and Clara continues. "But her nursery teacher had a baby, surely she noticed it then."

"Yes, and she plays with dolls," the Doctor remarks, not really seeing the appeal in them or how they resemble actual human babies. He puts his arm around Clara's waist and they gaze at their daughter fondly, as she lies amidst a pile of random toys and blankets. He rubs his hands together suddenly, striding towards his daughter who, when seeing him walking over, begins to wipe the sleep from her eyes.

"Anna!" he calls, grinning wildly whilst sifting through the toys strewn over the floor. "Won't be needing these anymore!" The Doctor frowns when a legs pops off one of them, and Anna lets out a short whimper. "Oh, I'm sorry," he says, a saddened expression crossing his face as he fiddles with it to get the leg back into place. He gives a thumbs up and a smile to Clara who is behind, giggling, because she knows that the Doctor got a bit too confident on how well this could turn out.

"Why don't I need them, daddy?" Anna asks. She toddles towards him and he scoops her up into his arms. He brushes a brunette curl out of her eyes and fiddles with it, wrapping it around his finger absent-mindedly.

"There's going to be a real baby round here pretty soon," he tells her, poking her playfully on the nose.

"Where from?" Anna asks. She's rather innocent, and the Doctor can't help but smile at her comment.

Clara emerges from behind them and raises a hand. "From me," she says to her daughter, watching her expression change. "I'm having a baby, a new brother or sister for you. I hope you'll be a good big sister, Anna."

"A baby…" she says slowly. "Oh a baby," she grins, sprawling herself over her father's lap and hugging into his chest. "Jessie's mum from Nursery is having one of those. I asked her if I could keep it but she said no. And Mrs Arthur had one because she grew and grew until she looked like a balloon." She pauses for a moment, face becoming suddenly solemn. "And then she just popped."

Clara quickly puts a hand over her mouth to hide her laughter, because she knows that if Anna catches her doing so she'll have to explain why. And she doesn't fancy that.

"I rather hope she didn't pop," the Doctor smiles. "But that's not to say mummy won't grow and grow until she looks like a balloon." Clara overhears this and sticks her tongue out at the Doctor. Memories of her first pregnancy are beginning to resurface, and she doesn't particularly want to revisit the final months of that.

Anna gets up and goes over to the basket of toys in the corner, where there's a red rubber ball that's rather conveniently placed. She grabs it and stuffs it up her t-shirt.

"Mrs Arthur was like this," she demonstrates, waddling around. "And at the end of it she got to keep a baby, like mummy will."

"You look exactly like mummy," the Doctor praises her. Meanwhile, Clara gives him the evils – she's not amused that he's gone on with the joke for so long.

Anna toddles over to Clara and grabs at her legs, begging to be picked up. Clara hoists her off the ground and balances her on her hip.

And Anna's tiny fingers outstretch to prod Clara's slightly swelling belly. There's hardly a curve to it yet and Anna seems somewhat disappointed by this, but she also seems fascinated that there's _life _in there, and a whole new person growing who she's yet to meet.

The Doctor, who is observing the scene from afar, suddenly feels out of his depth and unsure, yet still excited and nervous, for he's not had a proper human family before. He's filled with the urge to protect them; some kind of primitive desire that feels as old as time itself. But he likes the feeling. He wants to keep them safe.

And as he looks on at Clara, the only emotion he recognises, is, well. Love. He's never come across anyone like her before, and the longer he spends trying to decipher the enigma around her, the more intrigued by her he becomes.

Yet, the mystery never loses its intrigue.

He could have picked anyone in the universe to have a family with (well, he likes to think there are a few willing to do so), but he's chosen her. And the reason behind that is obvious to him.

His gaze wanders and he notices the bowl of soufflé on the kitchen top, that has been forgotten about in the moment. Not hesitating any longer, he picks Anna up, takes Clara's hand and straightens his bowtie.

"Now, where were we. Soufflé, anyone?"


End file.
